


Be Judged

by TrashMetal



Series: Verses [2]
Category: Outpost (2008)
Genre: (it has nothing to do with the 3rd tag don't worry), Bitterness, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentioned oral sex, Past Child Abuse, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashMetal/pseuds/TrashMetal
Summary: A follow-up on the "Judge Not"-story I wrote quite some time back. This time, it's from Prior's POV.





	Be Judged

At the sound of the approaching, agitated footsteps, he automatically assumed they belonged to Jordan; jittery thing that he was. Finally something to quell the boredom that came from watching over the Breather. 

Prior had taken over the shift after Mac had presumably gotten fed up with the strange man – being, _ghost_... whatever he was – and his inability to enjoy a good old game of chess. Prior held no belief in ghosts and what have you, but if he had, he'd have no problem holding his own against them.  
He was a born survivor; had been taught by his dear old dad how you had to be tough in this world if you wanted to amount to something. He'd given Prior the bruises to prove it; to show the boy that he wouldn't accept a weakling for a son, and despite his initial crying and skittishness around his dad, Prior had eventually understood where the old man was coming from; weaklings had no place in this world, and Prior couldn't afford to be a weakling, so he'd steeled himself for his dad's assaults until he'd eventually learned to appreciate them. His dad _did_ mean well, after all; he was just making sure his son grew up to be a strong and take-shit-from-no-one kinda person. At least, that's what's Prior had kept on telling himself.  
Too bad the old man never got to see his handiwork in action; he'd died – rather ingloriously – from a ruptured spleen after some drunken fight he'd been involved in. Prior was just 17 at the time, not quite as hardened as he should've been– still an unpolished gem. His old man already did start working on him, so why quit just because his trainer up and died?  
It hadn't been easy, but Prior knew his dad would've been proud of him if he could see him now. Not that he could; he was just a heap of rotted bones in the ground now, and even if Heaven existed, Prior's old man would certainly not be up there. _The old bastard always did fear Hell_. 

Speaking of God-fearing lunatics, his suspicions proved to be correct as Jordan came into the room; a haunted look on his face, fear seemingly creeping into the very pores of the man's skin until he'd aged by at least a good ten years. Oh, even if they were only just getting to know each other, Prior had seen it all before; in the faces of wounded comrades left for dead on the battlefield, in the faces of the enemy as assault rifles were aimed at their heads and now, that same look was on Jordan's face.

Prior looked back down at his knife, having paid more attention to it than the Breather, and found himself smirking. Jordan always did have that effect on him, for some reason that he didn't care to figure out. His policy was always to take things as they come; be laid-back, make the most of the short time they all had on this floating, festering space-rock – and that included pushing Jordan the Scotsman's buttons, obviously.

“Back for more already, huh?”, Prior taunted slightly, knowing Jordan's face would redden any minute now as he remembered what they had done on their shift the previous day. Prior's throat was still a bit sore, but Jordan's sense of pride was ultimately the sorest, he could tell just by the silence that ensued as Jordan undoubtedly racked his mind for a comeback, or another flurry of denial.  
Prior decided to push his luck a little more, just because. The Breather was very much a bore, after all.

“It's alright, Jimmy. I mean, I _did_ make you come pretty fuckin' hard there. We're all just mammals at the end of the day...”

“Shut up!”, Jordan interrupted, a blush staining his face despite how pale he was. “Let's just–“

“Forget about it?” Prior shot the man another smirk, still picking at the tip of his knife. “Sure you'd be able to forget me swallowing all that spunk of yours? I don't think so”, he added, patting his stomach for emphasis.

Jordan got a dismayed look on his face, before letting out a choked noise of disgust. He couldn't be _completely_ disgusted though; Prior noted that the blush hadn't left the other man's face. In fact, it had spread all the way to his ears, even below his collar.  
Prior smiled to himself _(damn I'm good)_ , almost considering taking pity on the other for a split second. _Almost_.  
In his own weird way, he liked Jordan, it's just that he liked making him squirm even more.

“Christ, why did I come in here?”, he heard Jordan mutter as he started madly pacing around the room, careful to stay at least an arm's length away from the Breather. “Why do I even bother with you... Dammit.”

Something had happened to Jordan, that much was obvious. No idea what it could be though; maybe he'd finally realized he had no chance of getting into Heaven at the end of the day. The Scotsman took a seat, despite supposedly wanting to leave, tightly clutching at his little silver crucifix; pallor increasing and stare hollowing.

“That trinket ain't gonna help you much, y'know”, Prior mused, shooting another look at the Breather who sat unmoving as ever, staring off into the distance and paying the two men no mind. “How much y'wanna bet that our man here also used to believe in God? And just look what became of him– ”

“Do you ever just _shut up_ , you fucking yankee?”, came the quipped response which, admittedly, Prior hadn't expected would come so soon. The American couldn't help but burst into laughter, which became almost deafening in the small room they were in. Jordan visibly flinched from the sudden sound while the Breather, of course, did nothing.

“Jimmy”, Prior grinned, laughter finally ceasing. “I think if you want me to shut up, you'll have to make me.” _It worked like a charm the first time_.

Jordan just stared at him, flabbergasted, before looking back down at his crucifix; the only sane thing in this fucking room, bunker... _world_.

“Are you seriously coming onto me again? _Now?_ In front of this goddamned... _zombie?!_ ”, he managed, voice involuntarily rising an octave as he made a violent gesture towards the Breather.

“What, y'think he's gonna tell?”, Prior mocked, though without any real malice in his voice. Jordan was almost too easy sometimes, there was barely any challenge to it. Then again, Prior didn't pester him purely for the challenge. Jordan was just so wonderfully contradictive of himself; he put on this show of being such a good guy while still embracing his military career like the rest of them, and it amused Prior to no end.

The old rickety chair creaked as Jordan shifted in his seat, keeping quiet and just praying _(literally)_ that Prior would drop the subject. He'd given it enough thought already goddammit; it had his stomach wrenching in shame and guilt all throughout the night but try as he might, he just couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering back to the day before; how nice and wet Prior's lips had felt around his– 

“So do you wanna take over my shift or something?” For once, Jordan was glad to have Prior's voice interrupt his thoughts. However, he had no plans to watch over the Breather any time soon.

“ _No!_ No, coming here was a mistake...”, he murmured, mostly to himself, grasping the crucifix hard enough to leave indents in his palm. “Fuck, I shouldn't have come...”

_(But ya_ did _yesterday, heh...)_

Prior snorted, resuming the admiration of his knife. “What? Yer just gonna run back through the scary ol' woods alone? There might even be monsters out there, you know.”

Jordan was about to call Prior a shithead, but the words died in his throat almost as soon as they'd been thought up. The American was obviously mocking him, but beneath all that, there was a hint of sincerity. Really, with what they had seen thus far, scary monsters in the woods didn't seem so childishly stupid after all. There might very well be monsters out there _(and on the inside too)_. Jordan loathed the unknown and right now, not even the solidity of his crucifix was able to rid his mind of horrible, nightmarish thoughts.  
Slouching down even further, Jordan buried his face in his palms for a bit; giving a last ditch effort to calm himself, since he was pretty damn sure he might start hyperventilating at this rate. He didn't wanna fight anymore, not like this; not out here. You couldn't fight and win against supernatural forces if you tried, not even a cocky guy like Prior...

“Jesus Christ, we're all dead...”, he stammered, not even hearing the words leaving his mouth.

“Yeah yeah, whatever your lil' god tells you.” Prior answered by default, but his mind was elsewhere. He looked back and forth between his knife and the Breather, considering if using the man as his new, personal dartboard was gonna make him talk. Then, remembering that DC would be angry if the Breather was killed without getting anything out of him, Prior settled for the next best thing; he took aim at the wall behind the motionless man, just above his shoulder, and threw his knife, the blade sliding perfectly into place in the wall with a _THUMP!_  
The Breather didn't so much as flinch, not even when the perfectly sharp blade made a light cut as it flew past his shoulder. _A pretty deep cut... but there was no blood_.  
Though it made him scoff, Prior had to give the man some credit; most men would've pissed themselves had that happened to them.

He stood up to go fetch the knife back when Jordan's despairing words hit him like a brick in the head:

“Please, let's just... I wanna– do it ag- again...”

Prior had to make an effort not to literally whirl around and leer triumphantly at the Scotsman.

“Oh, so you _do_ wanna fuck in front of this goddamned zombie?”, he stated, while doing a somewhat tragic imitation of Jordan's accent and words from before.  
Jordan met his own gaze and the absolute despair he saw in the man's eyes admittedly had Prior second-guessing himself for a minute. He wasn't fucking around.

“Yes”, Jordan hissed through chattering teeth _(why are they chattering when it's not even cold?)_ , “Please, I... just n- need it, alright?”

At that moment, Prior felt a surge of emotion deep in his chest. He couldn't place it right away, but it tugged at his heartstrings in just the right way so as to identify itself. He felt... _sorry_ for Jordan then, a feeling he hadn't felt during his entire career, for the most part. The closest he ever came to empathy these days was the pity he felt for every enemy who'd been eye-to-barrel with his arsenal of weapons.  
He lowered his head without really thinking before giving Jordan his answer; his old habitual way of saving face. To think he still had it in him despite everything... This was bound to keep him up tonight, and for many nights to come, but he put the self-analytical thoughts aside for now.  


“Yeah, let's... Let's get started then”, Prior said absently, still not fully grasping Jordan's sudden change of heart.  
Honestly, despite having given Jordan a blowjob, Prior never actually thought the Scotsman would ever wanna go _all_ the way. Yet there he was, already standing up and fidgeting with his belt, nervous but determined. Prior chuckled inwardly. _Maybe he wasn't so easy to read after all_.

**Author's Note:**

> YEP, I went and gave you the dreaded porn-cliffhanger! It really felt that that would be the appropriate note to end this fic on, though. However, I'm thinking of writing a small "extra chapter" where you actually get to read all that delicious middle-aged-men-fucking-in-front-of-a-zombie/ghost-guy porn.  
> I still feel there are some things I'd like to jot down that just didn't fit into this particular chapter. See you then!


End file.
